


The Red Warden

by Lightning4119



Series: Grey Wardens [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Gen, PSA: Don't fuck with Daylen's family, What was the Warden up to between the end of Witch Hunt and the start of Inquisition?, now we know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning4119/pseuds/Lightning4119
Summary: The continuing adventures of the Hero of Ferelden after the events of the Witch Hunt DLC.
Relationships: Male Amell/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Morrigan/Male Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Grey Wardens [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/943083
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	The Red Warden

**Author's Note:**

> We're starting off in the intervening years between Origins and Inquisition, but we'll be moving on from there before too long.

_The Anderfels  
The Anderfels are a land of shocking extremes. It is the most desolate place in all the world, for two Blights have left great expanses of the steppes so completely devoid of life that corpses cannot even decay there—no insect or grub will ever reach them._

_It is a land filled with wonders like the Merdaine, with its gigantic white statue of Our Lady carved into its face, her hands outstretched and bearing an eternal flame, or Weisshaupt Fortress, with its walls of living rock towering over the desolate plains below._

_The Anders, too, are a people of extremes: The most devout priests and the most deadly soldiers, the poorest nation in the world and the most feared._

_—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

—TRW—

Daylen tugged back on the reins, the ox grumbling as it pulled to a halt in front of the cottage. “I’m back!” Cupcake’s barking rattled the windows, and a moment later the hound and a young boy came running out the front door. “What mischief have you two been up to?” Daylen asked, noting the mud liberally smeared across both of them.

“Nothing,” Kieran said innocently. Cupcake barked happily, wagging his stumpy tail and trying to look innocent.

Daylen shrugged. “Suit yourself. Oh _Morrigan_!”

“All right, all right, we were playing by the creek!” Kieran hissed. “Don’t tell Mother!”

“Kid, she’s going to be able to tell,” Daylen pointed out as a bird flitted down next to them.

“And _what_ have you been doing?” Morrigan asked as she resumed her human form. “I told you to stay out of the mud!”

“Well look at him,” Kieran said, pointing at Daylen. “He’s dirty too!”

“You must set an example,” Morrigan agreed, managing to keep a straight face as she looked at Daylen.

“Good to see you too,” Daylen said, kissing her on the cheek.

Morrigan looked at the wagon and gave Daylen a long-suffering look. “Please tell me that wagon is not _entirely_ filled with gifts for my son.”

“You want me to lie? In front of the boy?” Daylen shook his head reproachfully. “Come now, Morrigan, let’s not go setting any bad examples!”

Morrigan sighed, but shrugged. “Proceed.” Kieran giggled, and Daylen winked at the child.

“His sixth birthday is coming up, so I figured I’d take care of it sooner rather than later. Kieran,” Daylen said, putting his arm around his son, “I’m going to tell you the story of how I met The Mother.”

Morrigan froze, turning around and spearing Daylen with a steely glare. “You most certainly are not!”

“Aww, mother,” Kieran whined. “Please?”

“Probably for the best,” Daylen admitted. “It’d give you nightmares. Now go on, your mother and I have to unload this.” The boy scampered off, Cupcake in pursuit, and Daylen waited until they disappeared around the corner to pull Morrigan into a kiss. “I missed you,” he whispered as he came up for air.

“And I you,” she said warmly. “Did you conclude your business?”

“Mostly,” Daylen replied. “Nathaniel is managing the arling and leading the Wardens well. Between his training and working with me, he’s got a good sense for handling things. He still wants me to approve the major decisions, but I don’t see why popping over there once a week to check in isn’t feasible.” He sighed. “Moving into the Keep would make things easier, you know.”

“I prefer it out here,” Morrigan said, retreading the same points they had discussed countless times. “Kieran is safer here, where we know any visitors would be threats.”

Daylen nodded. “I know, I just…I worry about him, and you, no matter how safe we are.”

Morrigan smiled faintly. “One of the many things that makes you a good father. Now go get cleaned up. This can wait.”

Daylen had entered the house when there was a resounding crash from the basement, and Daylen bounded down the steps, his staff up and his defensive spells snapping into place. Rather than a real threat, Daylen found his son standing in the middle of a mess of dust, broken glass, and spilled brandy. Cupcake was sitting next to the boy, trying to look innocent. “Kieran? You alright, son?” The boy responded by bursting into tears, and Daylen quickly checked his son over. “You aren’t hurt, not a scratch on you – you inherited your mother’s luck.”

“I’m sorry, father,” the boy said tearfully. “I didn’t mean to break the bottles, I swear!”

“You didn’t mean to…” Daylen stared at his son in confusion for a second. “What?”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident!”

“What, all this?” Daylen asked, looking at the destruction. The boy nodded tearfully. “Kieran, I don’t really care about that. They can be replaced. Sure, I want you to be more careful, but you didn’t break them on purpose. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

Kieran sniffled, nodding. Daylen ruffled the boy’s hair. “So, you’re going to help me clean this up, and then we’ll figure out a story to tell your mother for why we smell like a distillery.”

Kieran looked up at him, wiping his eyes and runny nose on a sleeve. “All right, father.”

“Wipe your nose,” Daylen said softly, handing the child a kerchief. “Your mother will have my hide if she sees you doing that with your sleeve.”

“I learned it from you,” Kieran replied.

“I know, that’s why she’d be angry,” Daylen shot back. “You’re getting cheekier every day.” He grinned. “I’m so proud of you. Now come on. Let’s make this a learning experience. What do you suggest we use to clean this up?”

The boy blew his nose, clearing his throat and thinking a moment. “I suppose lighting it on fire would be bad.”

“Not unless we didn’t have any further use for the house,” Daylen replied with a laugh. “You’re teasing me, Kieran.”

“Doing my best,” the boy said, managing a smile. “Frost magic wouldn’t help us, lightning wouldn’t, and an earthquake would just be overdoing it.”

“You were close with fire magic,” Daylen hinted. “Burning it isn’t a good idea, but…” Cupcake growled, and Daylen shot him a confused look.

“But if we heat up the area, we can dry it up,” Kieran realized. “And then the mess can be swept up!”

Cupcake continued barking, unable to move due to the broken glass on the floor, and Daylen turned. “What’s wrong, boy? We’re all fine.”

Something hit him in the back, and Kieran’s eyes widened in shock as Daylen took an involuntary step forward. The mage’s head tilted slightly as he wondered why he had dropped his staff and where his mana had gone. Something else hit him, and a curious wetness began running down his back. Another impact and Daylen finally felt the pain as he slowly turned, spotting several men in hoods and leathers standing on the stairs.

It took him all of two heartbeats to assess the situation, the numbers, and the locations of the exits. “Kieran, _run_!” Daylen fought the magebane the arrows in his back had been dipped in and inhaled deeply, ignoring the searing pain in his back even as he felt his strength beginning to fade. “ _Morrigan_!” The mage fell to his knees as one of the men pitched a flask, the spilled alcohol on the floor igniting as the incendiary grenade shattered.

An angry bear came barreling down the stairs as two of the men grabbed Kieran, Cupcake leaping through the flames to defend his pack only to be struck down with a mace. Over the roar of the flames, Daylen could hear the boy screaming as he was dragged out the other exit. He scrabbled for his dropped staff, reaching out his other hand in a futile attempt to help as another incendiary flask smashed against Morrigan’s flank.

Agony was the next thing Daylen remembered, the searing pain of burns across his body spiking as something touched his flesh. He heard whining and felt pain streak across his cheek, and Daylen cracked an eye open to see his dog looking at him. Blood – _his_ blood, Daylen realized – was streaking the hound’s muzzle, and one of the dog’s forepaws was held off the ground, the leg badly injured. With a titanic effort, Daylen turned his head, spotting Morrigan lying next to him, bleeding and badly burned as the house belched flames behind them. Through the fog of pain and poison still coursing through his body, Daylen realized Cupcake had dragged them from the burning house.

“Good boy,” Daylen mumbled, releasing the little mana he had in a weak healing burst. “Get help.” The world darkened, and Daylen slipped into unconsciousness.

—TRW—

Nathaniel ducked back a half-step as Steafan’s daggers swung by harmlessly. “Come on, you’re holding back!” He urged. “You have to _want_ to hit me!”

The thief-turned-Warden scowled. “I _do_ want to. It’s like trying to catch smoke!”

Nathaniel parried two more strikes, both men pausing their spar when they heard frantic barking. The source of the noise came barreling through the open gates of Vigil’s Keep, and Nathaniel vaulted the fence around the sparring ring as a crowd began to gather.

“That’s the Warden-Commander’s hound, isn’t it?” someone asked.

Nathaniel knelt in front of the dog. “What’s going on, boy? Where’s Daylen?” The dog whined frantically, and Nathaniel noticed blood and soot streaking the dog’s hide. “Not good. Maverlies!” The soldier was at his side instantly. “Captain, I need ten of your men, and horses. Alert Seneschal Varel, find Neria and Oghren, I think they were in the still room. We leave immediately.”

—TRW—

The wreckage of the house was still smoking when the rescue party arrived, Nathaniel dismounting and readying his bow as Cupcake bounded to his master’s side. “Spread out, find any trace of who did this,” Nathaniel ordered, spotting the two bodies lying in the grass. “Neria!”

The elf fell to her knees next to Daylen. “He’s alive, but he’s in bad shape.” She checked Morrigan over. “She’ll live, too.” The healer shook her head. “They need more healing than I can provide out here.”

“We need to get them to a safe place,” Nathaniel replied. “Soldier’s Peak?”

—TRW—

Rostan was good at what he did. What he did tended to be whatever was most profitable – some mercenary work, the odd bit of burglary, a contract killing or two. And in that vein, when he had been approached with a simple kidnapping job with a hefty fee, the man had accepted despite that feeling that had warned him off so many bad jobs in the past.

But it had worked. As his second-in-command – a man of his reputation simply didn’t go on jobs himself when he had a crew to do that for him – reported that the whelp’s parents had gone down easily enough, even if one had been a mage, and the boy had been dragged off to a secure location, his hands bound and a rough gag shoved in his mouth. He was still whining through the gag.

The bad feeling was back, and Rostan rubbed his chin, before approaching the boy. The sniffling stopped, although the tears on his face had long since dried. “I’m going to take the gag out. You scream, I’ll bleed you. You understand?” The boy nodded, and Rostan pulled the gag out of his mouth. “What’s your name, whelp?” Rostan asked.

“Kieran,” the boy rasped nervously. “Kieran Amell.”

“Amell,” Rostan repeated. “Amell.” He sighed deeply, before looking at his second in command. “You realize you’ve kidnapped the son of the Warden-Commander. The Hero of Ferelden. _The bloke who has a bleeding Archdemon’s head mounted on his wall_. We’ll be lucky if all he does is kill us.”

“You took this job,” the man pointed out.

“I should have known better,” Rostan groaned. “Maker, we’re marked. We need to break camp, make the drop, and _get out of Ferelden_.”

—TRW—

Three days after the poison had entered his body, Daylen woke up. “Fuck,” he coughed.

“Ever eloquent, Commander,” Velanna sighed. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” He opened his mouth, and she rolled her eyes. “To answer your questions, you’re at Soldier’s Peak. You were poisoned and badly injured. Morrigan is alive, and you are going to recover thanks to her, although you won’t be mobile for at least another week. Your son is missing.” Daylen sat up. Velanna stared at him. “You shouldn’t even be able to move.”

“My son is missing,” Daylen said, flexing the mental muscles that controlled his magic. He could feel the weakness in his body washing away, and he broke out in sweat as the last of the poison was flushed from his body. “I’m going to find him.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Velanna replied. “You should not be physically able to stand right now.”

“And I shouldn’t have been able to kill an Archdemon and survive, either, but whose head is mounted on whose wall?” Daylen stood, his movements stiff but tightly controlled. “I’m going to find my son. Where is Morrigan?”

“Here,” a weak voice called from behind a curtain. Daylen yanked the curtain back, finding the witch heavily bandaged and in a cot of her own. “My love, they have Kieran.”

Daylen nodded. “I know. I’m going to find him.”

“How?”

“Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer,” Daylen replied. “There is no line here. No rules I won’t break. I am going to find my son. I’m going to bring him back. And if there’s anything left of the people who took Kieran when I get him back, I’ll string what’s left of the corpses up as an example.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Morrigan said softly. “But…I know not where they took him.”

“Then it’s a damned good thing I can find out,” Daylen growled, standing up. “Velanna, watch over Morrigan. If she’s capable of getting up, she’s healed. Just be sure to stay out of her way.”

“You think I can’t handle her?” Velanna challenged.

Daylen scoffed. “I wouldn’t want to bet on either of you coming out of that fight happy. But I know her, and if she thinks either of us is in danger she won’t stop, no matter what’s in her way. I would rather you two work together rather than waste time butting heads.” Velanna scowled, but nodded. Daylen bent, kissing Morrigan on the lips and whispering something to her. The witch rolled her eyes, but whispered something in response, and Daylen stood. “I’m going to talk to Jowan and Avernus. Tell Nathaniel he’s got command.”

“Daylen, wait!” Morrigan said. “What are you planning?”

“Get those two to find Kieran, get him back, kill anyone in my path,” Daylen responded. “If there’s a larger plan, I’ll burn it to the ground.”

Morrigan looked to Velanna. “You said your Wardens had collected evidence from the scene?”

Velanna nodded. “We have blood samples.”

“Where are they.”

—TRW—

“Davis, is the crew ready to leave?” Rostan asked.

Davis shook his head. “Not all of them want to leave. They don’t think the Warden-Commander’s a threat.” He paused. “I mean, he’s _dead_ , not much he can do to us now.”

“No sense in taking chances,” Rostan said. “If they’re not going to leave, we’ll go without them. I’m headed as far away from this sewer as I can get. I hear Rivain’s nice.”

—TRW—

“Daylen,” Jowan said warmly. “Welcome back to the Peak. I heard you were here. I would have stopped by, but my duties-”

“Jowan, I know it’s been a while, but I don’t have time to exchange pleasantries,” Daylen said bluntly.

Jowan’s smile faded. “How can I help?”

Daylen’s resolve faltered momentarily. “I need you to use blood magic.”

Jowan took a half-step back in surprise. “I…what could possibly have happened that you would want me to do that?”

The mask cracked, and Jowan saw the desperation and fear in his oldest friend’s eyes. “Jowan, they’ve got my son.”

Jowan’s jaw clenched. “Walk with me.” The two strode through the lab, Jowan grabbing instruments and ingredients as he went. “Talk to me, Daylen. What happened?”

“We were attacked,” Daylen explained, ducking as Jowan hauled open a cabinet and rooted around in the back. “Morrigan was critically injured, I was in a bad way, and the house was on fire. They took Kieran and left us to burn, but Cupcake dragged us out of the wreckage. I don’t know where they have him, and I need your help to find him.”

Jowan nodded, dumping his collected goodies onto a table. “Avernus!” Jowan bellowed, the noise echoing in the lab. “I need you!”

A bird flitted through the lab, coming in for a landing on the floor and blurring into the ancient mage. “I am here, Jowan.”

Daylen got right to the point. “Avernus, I need a location spell. I don’t care what kind, but I need it fast. Blood magic or otherwise, whatever. Just make it work.”

Avernus eyed him warily. “For you to consider using blood magic like this…your son is missing, I take it?”

“Kidnapped,” Daylen spat. “Shall we?”

Avernus was over two centuries old, but the man moved with surprising grace, sorting through what Jowan had collected. “We’ll need this…this, not these…” he looked to Jowan. “We’ll need Felandaris. Just a small sample.” Jowan nodded, sprinting away and sorting through an ingredients rack. Bringing back the ingredients, Jowan passed them over, and Avernus measured and cut a sample of the root, adding it to the mix. “You are fortunate that the lyrium deal you set up with the Carta holds,” Avernus said. “We have a ready supply here, or we would need to sacrifice a great deal of blood to power this ritual.”

“I don’t care,” Daylen replied. “I’d spill all of mine to save one drop of his.”

“Such devotion is admirable, even if you are watching over the child with an Archdemon’s soul,” Avernus mused. “Especially with the knowledge that you may one day have to-”

“You say one more word and you’ll sacrifice a pint of blood,” Daylen said calmly. “Through your nose.”

“I meant no offense,” Avernus replied. “We will need a sample of your blood.”

Daylen rolled up his sleeve, offering his wrist. “Take what you need.”

Jowan drew his knife and carefully opened a vein, letting blood flow into the bowl. He nodded to Daylen when they had enough, and Daylen sealed the cut with an effortless flare of magic.

“Do you have any of the boy’s personal effects?” Daylen shook his head. “That will make things more complicated. Do you have blood from the people who took him?”

“That, we have,” Daylen said, holding up a vial. “Is this enough?”

Avernus nodded, adding the blood to the bowl. Adding a hefty dose of refined lyrium, Avernus muttered under his breath, and Daylen felt a tug inside his body. “You will feel a pull towards the source of the blood,” Avernus explained. “This spell will last for a day, no more. Do not tarry.”

“I’m already gone,” Daylen said, making for the exit. “Quick stop at the armory, and then I’m on my way.”

“Daylen!” Jowan called after him. “You need any help?”

Daylen shook his head. “I’ve got my target.” He took the steps two at a time, following the pull. “Stay safe, little one. Dad’s coming.”

He entered the armory at a jog, leaving the thin shirt and breeches he had been dressed in on and pulling a set of unmarked dragonscale armor off a rack. A standard-issue Warden staff went across his back, and he momentarily lamented the loss of Spellfury and his spirit blade, both of which had been left in the basement when the house burned. He pulled the blade that Mikhael Dryden had forged for him so long ago and belted it on, the weapon having sat in the armory unused since he had constructed his spirit blade. A belt with slots for vials of lyrium or elfroot extracts completed the ensemble, and Daylen transformed into a bird, flapping southwards as quickly as possible.

—TRW—

Kendrick was a goon, nothing more. He’d been hired to snatch a mage child for a handful of men wearing Tevinter robes. Sure, one of the child’s parents had turned _into a bear_ , but she was dead now, and they had paid him enough to not ask questions.

He wished he had, as Daylen broke his leg. The other leg was already twisted at a sickening angle. “Where is he?” Daylen demanded, yanking Kendrick’s head off the floor and out of the puddle of his own blood by the hair. “Come on, you worthless piece of shit, they couldn’t have paid you that much! Answer me!”

“I don’t know!” Kendrick wailed. “I don’t know where they took him!”

“Then tell me where to find someone who does,” Daylen ordered, the fire blazing in his hand close enough to Kendrick’s face that the man’s beard began to crinkle.

—TRW—

“You _will not_ stop me from leaving,” Morrigan hissed as Velanna refused to move from in front of the door.

“Your wounds are not healed,” the elf insisted. “You do no good to anyone by attempting to leave early.”

“You will move, or you will _be_ moved,” Morrigan warned.

“Please,” Velanna scoffed. “I know what you are capable of.”

“Do you?” Morrigan asked archly. “And you believe that Daylen knew of all of my skills, and that I do not know yours?”

“Oi, what’s all the noise about?” Jowan asked as he entered the infirmary.

“She refuses to let herself heal,” Velanna said.

“And _she_ stands between me and my child,” Morrigan replied icily.

“Not a safe place to stand,” Jowan remarked calmly.

“I can handle this,” Velanna insisted.

“Really?” Jowan asked. “Because it sounded like you two were on the verge of fighting, especially when Daylen said that once she could stand up, she was ready to leave.”

“Daylen doesn’t know-” Velanna gasped as Morrigan drained her mana with a gesture.

“The Archdemon would not stand between me and what I care for, and neither shall you.” Jowan stepped into her path, and Morrigan speared him with an icy glare. “Do you intend to obstruct as well?”

“Hardly,” Jowan said. “Visit the armory before you leave, get yourself a staff and whatever else you need. Find them, bring them back safely. And please, _be careful_.”

—TRW—

Walther was an Anders sellsword, and was celebrating his latest job with half a dozen pints in a filthy tavern outside Redcliffe. All he had had to do was run security on a ‘nighttime merchant convoy’ and had made out with twenty sovereigns. He knew between the timing, the pay, and the fact that the ‘convoy’ had only had one wagon that he was working with smugglers, possibly slavers, but he didn’t care.

Walther was eyeing up one of the serving wenches when he found himself unable to move. His pint was halfway up to his mouth, and he strained, trying to move his arm, his head, _anything_. His eyes flicked over, and he spotted several other people frozen in place as well. A moment later, the door exploded – outwards, surprisingly enough. Nobody in the tavern moved. Not because this was a normal occurrence, but because everyone inside had been rendered unable to move.

An armored figure strode into the room. “My name is Daylen Amell,” he said. “Warden-Commander, Hero of Ferelden, professional shit-wrecker, and scourge of bandits and arseholes everywhere. I have an Archdemon’s head on my wall. Ever heard of me?” He paused, glaring around the room. “Someone in this bar has information I need. Name of Walther. Now he,” Daylen went on, moving through the tavern and checking people’s faces, “ran security on a slaver convoy. That convoy had my son in it. Now, I’m very fond of the boy. I’d like him back. And I need to know where they are. The rest of you are free to go, and encouraged to go, but Walther and I need to have a chat.” He spotted Walther, who was wishing he had the muscular control to empty his bladder. “Ah, there you are, chum. We need to have a talk.” Daylen clicked his fingers, and the patrons suddenly found themselves capable of independent movement again. They celebrated this by heading for the exit as quickly as possible.

Walther set his pint down, trying not to soil himself. “Look, mate, I-”

Daylen stared at him, and the man fell silent. “Where did the convoy go?”

“I-” He quailed under the glare Daylen was giving him. “Southwest. Into the Fallow Mire.” He babbled for another two minutes, giving details about rendezvous points, where they had camped, and the paths through the swamp.

“Thank you,” Daylen said. He grabbed Walther by the head, his palm over the sellsword’s forehead. A massive burst of lightning torched the man’s brain, and Daylen let go, the corpse’s head thumping onto the bar. He dropped a handful of sovereigns onto the bar next to the smoking body, before turning on his heel and leaving the tavern.

—TRW—

One of the men groaned. “Would somebody _please_ shut that child up?”

“He’s gagged already,” another said. “What do you want me to do? Cut his throat?”

“It’s an option,” the first snapped.

“No, it’s not, and you know it’s not. We just have to wait until the pickup arrives. Relax, think of the pay. Once they arrive, we’re finished here, that child won’t be our problem anymore, and he won’t be crying to anyone.”

“Why do they want him so badly, anyway?” the first asked. “He’s one child, and they wanted him in particular.”

“Not our place to ask,” the second replied. “Questions like that never lead anywhere good.”

—TRW—

Daylen cursed as another corpse clawed its way out of the bog towards him. He beheaded it with a single swipe of Starfang, kicking the corpse back into the water. Night was falling, and without his hound or the spell Avernus had used to lead him to the first link in the chain, the odds of finding the hut Kieran had been taken to were falling rapidly.

The mage set to work quickly, drawing his dagger and etching the designs and runes he would need into the peat. A murmured incantation and a quick flare of magic, and he crossed a line.

—TRW—

The demon purred as it took in its surroundings. “Ah, how nice to finally be in your world. Did you summon me just for a chat, or did you want something?”

“I need a guide through this swamp,” Daylen said. “Time is a factor, and I know demons can sense concentrations of magical power. You’re going to take me to it.”

The desire demon smiled broadly. “And you offer what in exchange?”

“Nothing,” Daylen said.

The demon tilted its head. “You don't seem to understand how these deals work.”

“No, I do. You make some minor deal, possess me, I turn into an abomination and slaughter a bunch of innocents. Some other time, maybe. You're misunderstanding the situation you're in.” Daylen stepped to one side, revealing the dead bodies of several demons behind him. “I’m offering you nothing more than your continued existence in exchange for your service. The only question is will I run out of time or will the Fade run out of uncooperative demons first?”

—TRW—

“Where _are_ they,” one of the men groaned. “They should have been here hours ago! Before nightfall, they said!”

“Relax,” the second replied. “You’re getting on my nerves. What’s your hurry? You got another job lined up?”

“You don’t know who that kid is, do you?” the first asked. “I talked to him. He’s the _Warden-Commander’s kid._ Some idiot kidnapped the Grey Warden’s sprog.”

The second man rolled his eyes. “You worry too much. Even if the bloke managed to track the men who kidnapped the boy, he couldn’t find his way here. And even if he somehow found his way through the bog, what’s he going to do against all of us?”

It was at that exact moment that the entire side of the building blew up. Notably, the explosion was directed _outwards_ , and not so much as a single splinter was directed into the building.

Daylen strode through the smoke and dust, raw mana bleeding from every pore, fury blazing in his eyes, and magic fluctuating angrily around his body, Starfang in his hand. Unbound lightning was arcing from his body to the ground, leaving scorch marks in his path. “ _Where is he_?” A crossbow bolt sped towards him in response, and the bolt slowed as it approached him, before being stopped by one of his shields and dropping harmlessly to the ground. Daylen raised a hand without breaking his stride, and a massive stream of lightning incinerated the man where he stood. “ _WHERE IS MY SON?_ ”

The Warden-Commander had Starfang drawn, and he gestured with his off hand, blasting a slaver into the wall with a pulse of force magic. The remaining men had grabbed their weapons and closed on him, and Daylen parried two strikes from the nearest slaver before putting a needle-sharp spike of ice through his eye. The corpse was still twitching as it hit the floor, and two more slavers fell in pieces as he hacked away with Starfang. Daylen turned, slaying three more with a torrent of lightning and beheading a fourth. The mage had learned his technique from two expert swordsmen and polished it with years of experience, but at the moment he wielded his blade like a cudgel, lopping off another slaver’s axe hand and setting him alight with a gout of flame before kicking him into his compatriots. He let loose another burst of lightning into the pile of downed slavers, before rounding on the last man standing. The man had dropped his mace and was attempting to flee, but Daylen yanked him back with another pulse of force and ran him through. “ _You don’t get to run away_.”

There was only one other room in the small house, and Daylen eyed the door that separated him from his son.

A quick pulse of magic found traps on the door, so Daylen took three steps to the right and pressed both palms against the wall, pumping frost magic into the wood. A minute later, he drew his staff, slamming the butt of the weapon into the frozen wood and shattering it.

Stepping through the hole, Daylen ignited a ball of magelight in his hand. “Kieran? Son, are you in here?”

“Father?” Daylen turned, spotting his son hiding behind an overturned desk. “Is it safe?”

Daylen knelt in front of his child, hugging him tight. “Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

“One of them tried to hurt me,” Kieran said. “I hit him like you told me, and used that spell you showed me.” Daylen’s son pointed, and the mage turned, spotting a figure twitching on the ground.

Daylen nodded approvingly. “Well done, Kieran. Come on, let’s go home. Your mother is terribly worried about you.”

“Uh-oh,” Kieran replied. “Am I going to be in trouble?”

“That depends,” Daylen said, feeling the tension and anger that had been driving him draining away. “Have you kept up on your studies?”

“They wouldn’t let me have any books,” Kieran protested.

“Don’t worry,” Daylen winked, a spell flitting from his hand and hitting the bewitched man while Kieran was distracted. “I’ll talk to her.” Reaching down, he grabbed the petrified man by the ankle, dragging him after them. The man's head thunked over a chunk of debris, and Daylen tried not to take too much satisfaction in it.

“Where’s mother?” Kieran asked, holding Daylen’s other hand.

A crow flitted by, landing in front of them. Morrigan rose as she resumed her human form. “I am here, child.” Kieran rushed forward, hugging his mother around the midsection. “Who is that?” she asked, pointing at the body Daylen was dragging.

“Well, you know how it is,” Daylen replied coldly. “There's no strangers, just friends you haven't made yet.”

Morrigan smirked. “Very well. They were expecting a pickup, I imagine. I ensured that their reinforcements were…delayed, or I would have been here sooner.” She stroked her son’s hair, smiling tenderly at him. “Come, child.” She led Kieran away, leaving Daylen alone with his prisoner.

Daylen sat and waited until the man came to, meeting the man's gaze. “You know who I am?”

“Yes,” the man rasped.

“You know what I've done?”

“Yes.”

“You know what I'm capable of?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to save us both some time and trouble and just tell me what I want to know?” The man nodded frantically. “Good. Why did you kidnap my son?”

“My boss told me to, that’s all I know,” the man said.

Daylen twitched a finger, a spike of ice pinning the man’s hand to the ground. “I don’t believe you,” Daylen replied over the screams.

“He told us it had to be the boy!” The man shouted, gritting his teeth against the pain. “He said that something was unique about him!”

A cold void opened in Daylen’s gut. “What else did he say?”

“He said that the boy’s power could be used to make Tevinter great again,” the man babbled. “We all thought he was crazy, but who was going to tell _him_ that?”

Daylen grunted. “What did he want with my son?”

“I don’t want to tell you, you’ll just hurt me some more,” the man groaned. Daylen twitched his finger again, and the man’s other palm was pinned to the ground.

“The next one goes through your bits, so start talking,” Daylen warned once the screaming died down.

“I don’t know, I swear! But whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be good for your boy! He’s…he’s deeply into blood magic, and he’s experimented on hundreds of slaves. Elves, humans, dwarves, Qunari. None of them survived.”

“Who's your boss?”

“Francis,” the man gasped. “Francis Novus.”

“Francis Novus,” Daylen repeated. “That sounds awfully made up.”

“I swear it's true.”

Daylen grunted again. “I’m going to assume you’ve told me the truth this far.”

“Francis sent me on a suicide mission,” the man spat. “I’m done keeping his secrets.”

“Wise decision. Where is he?”

“He keeps moving. Even I don’t know how to find him.” Daylen’s face darkened, and the man spoke faster. “But I know how you might be able to track him down!” The mage paid close attention as the man spoke, paying close attention to every detail.

When he was finished, Daylen grabbed him by the collar. “Look, whatever things you’ve heard I did, you really need context. Normally, I have excellent emotional control. Oh, I get angry, but I remain rational. But up until you geniuses decided to mess with me and mine, until you decided to try to take my son away from me, I had never been truly furious. Normally, when I kill, I do it as quickly and cleanly as possible. But you?” Daylen’s hands closed around the man’s neck. “I want you to suffer.”

Strangling the man took over two minutes, during which the man thrashed and kicked, and Daylen’s face remained locked in its snarl. Eventually, the body went slack, and Daylen stood, leaving the house to burn in his wake. He paused just long enough to grab a traveling cloak from one of the dead bodies before rejoining Morrigan and Kieran.

“I thought you were dead,” Kieran was saying tearfully. “Both of you.”

Daylen gave him a crooked smile. “They might have gotten me, but there’s no way they could have killed your mother.” Morrigan rolled her eyes. “They did injure us, that’s why it took us so long to catch up. Cupcake dragged us out of the house and got help.”

The reunited family started walking north towards the nearest settlement. “So now what?” Kieran asked. “What about the house?”

“There’s nothing that was in there that can’t be replaced,” Daylen said. “You two are going to Vigil’s Keep. I’ll recover what I can from the house and bring it there. Maybe we can find or build another house, but at the moment we need to make sure you’re safe.”

“At least this is over,” Kieran said, shivering in the cold.

“It is for you two,” Daylen said softly, wrapping the cloak around his son’s shoulders. “Not me.” Both Morrigan and Kieran looked over in surprise. “Those men won’t bother us again, sure, but the man who ordered it is still out there. And from the sound of it, he’s not going to just give up.”

“Is this about Urthemiel?” Kieran asked softly.

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing it is,” Daylen hedged. “One more reason I think that you both should be either at Vigil’s Keep or Soldier’s Peak.”

“And where will you be?” Morrigan asked.

“I’m probably headed to Tevinter eventually, but I think Orlais is my first stop,” Daylen said. “The kidnappers were to leave aboard a smuggling vessel from Gwaren. I’ve heard of the ship before – they operate as part of a shipping group to maintain some semblance of legitimacy. I’m going to pay the owners a visit, see if I can find any leads.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Kieran asked.

“For them, maybe,” Daylen muttered. “They hurt my family.”

“And what does that mean? That you’re going to hurt them back?”

Daylen stared at him. “You’re _five_. When did you get so mature?” His son grinned up at him. “To answer your question, yes, I am absolutely going to hurt them back. I don’t want to.” He paused. “All right, yes, I do. I’ve never been more enraged than I was when they took you from me and hurt your mother. But this isn’t about revenge. These people want you, Kieran, and they don’t have anything good in mind. And they won’t stop until somebody stops them.”

—TRW—

“Your Majesty,” a servant said, entering Alistair’s study. “There is a woman at the front gate asking to see you. She claims to have been sent by the Warden-Commander, and that she fought with you during the Blight.” The servant paused. “There…is a child with her.”

Alistair quickly sorted through the possibilities, discarding one as impossible and the other two as unlikely. “Admit them at once, and bring them here.”

“At once, Your Majesty.” The servant bowed, and Alistair scratched at his chin, wondering what was going on.

A few minutes later, Morrigan and a young boy were shown into his study. Alistair rose, shaking his head. “I can’t say I ever expected to see you again.”

Morrigan snorted. “‘Twas not in my plans either. But circumstances sometimes force one to do things that are…out of the ordinary.”

“What circumstances? Does Daylen know where you are?”

Morrigan’s eyes widened. “He never told you?”

Alistair frowned. “Told me what?”

Morrigan stared at him. “I…misjudged him. Truly. I was sure he would have told you by now. He found me a few years ago, and joined me to help raise our child.”

Alistair’s jaw dropped, and he quickly snapped it shut. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Daylen said he would find you. I should know not to doubt him by now.”

“He has been with us the last few years, living in Amaranthine,” Morrigan explained. “He splits his time between running the arling and raising his son.”

Alistair looked Kieran up and down. “That’s his little boy? I thought he’d look, I don’t know, more demonic. Tentacles and fiery breath.”

“He is a _normal boy_ , Alistair,” Morrigan insisted. As if to prove her point, Kieran stuck his tongue out at Alistair.

“Uh-huh,” Alistair said dubiously, smiling at the boy’s antics and extending his hand to the child.

“His name is Kieran.”

“Kieran?” Alistair nodded as the boy shook his hand. “Nice name. And what does he know of…how he was made?”

“He knows what he bears. He had me for the first two years, and has had the both of us since.”

Alistair grinned. “He’s changed you.”

“Do not be absurd,” Morrigan scoffed.

Where’s Daylen? What brings you here?”

Morrigan’s face soured. “A kidnapping.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. “What, they kidnapped Daylen?”

“Me,” Kieran said softly. “They kidnapped me.”

Alistair blanched. “And…what part of my kingdom should I look for the bodies in?” Kieran giggled. “And how many bodies?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Morrigan admitted. “Daylen is…”

“Right here,” Daylen interrupted, entering the room. “I’m sorry, Alistair, I should have told you.”

“To say the least,” Alistair said. “When did you find her?”

“About two and a half years after the Blight,” Daylen replied. “I figured the fewer people who knew, the smaller a target we would be.”

“Which clearly worked out well,” Alistair said tartly.

Daylen gave him a humorless smile. “Oh, definitely. They burned my house down, nearly killed me, nearly killed Morrigan, hurt my dog, and scared my son. The men who did the deed are dead, but the one who ordered it is still out there.”

“How can I help?” Alistair asked.

Daylen paused. “I…I hadn’t expected you to assist, actually.” Alistair looked hurt. “Not that you wouldn’t want to, of course,” he said quickly, “but I wouldn’t want anything I do to be seen as Ferelden acting.”

Alistair grunted. “Nonsense. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

Daylen’s face softened. “I appreciate that. We’re just spending a night here, heading towards Vigil’s Keep. Then I’m headed to Orlais.”

Alistair scowled. “Orlais was involved?”

“Not as a nation, no,” Daylen replied. “But Orlais is the first link in the chain that’ll lead me to the dead man who ordered this.”

Alistair nodded. “I understand. My palace is your palace.”

“I appreciate that. How’s Bryce?”

Alistair grinned at the mention of his son. “Oh, he’s just wonderful. He’s not walking anymore, he’s running. Drives the maids spare trying to keep up with him.”

“ _He_ managed to reproduce?” Morrigan asked in surprise.

“Is that such a shock?” Daylen asked. “I mean, so did I.” Kieran snickered. “It would have been what, two, maybe three years after the Blight?”

Alistair nodded. “We found out about six months after we got married that Elissa was pregnant. We were married about four years ago.”

Morrigan paused. “I…am happy for you. Truly.”

“And I for you two,” Alistair replied. “Now, come on, there’s some introductions to be made. Elissa is going to love meeting your son here.”

—TRW—

Daylen sniffed the air. “Ugh. It smells like Orlesian.”

Nathaniel fought a smile. “That makes sense. We’re _in Orlais_.”

“You could have stayed home,” Daylen pointed out.

“And miss the opportunity to watch you tear this operation apart?” Neria asked. “Never.”

Daylen rolled his eyes. “We’re going to try the diplomatic approach.”

“Ah, Warden-Commander, welcome!” A voice called in Orlesian. Daylen turned, spotting the man he wanted to talk to. “Duke Prosper de Montfort. A pleasure.”

“Prosper?” Daylen asked in the same language. “Are you related to Duke Charles de Montfort?”

“Ah, you met my father,” the duke said. “He passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh, my condolences,” Daylen remarked. “I met him at a salon once at Halamshiral.”

“He did enjoy those,” Prosper replied. “He mentioned you. Did you truly jump out a window?”

Daylen coughed sheepishly. “I had just been poisoned, so I felt subtlety was out the window, so to speak.”

“So to speak!” Prosper laughed.

“You have a lovely estate here,” Daylen continued.

The duke smirked. “It is a touch drab this time of year. You should see it in the spring. Truly a moving sight.”

“Perhaps one day I may be so lucky.”

“I may hold a salon or two here come the spring. I will certainly keep you in mind for the guest list. But surely, as a Warden you are used to hunting bigger game than mere wyverns.”

“That I am,” Daylen admitted. “But as enjoyable a diversion as a hunt would be, I did not come here for that reason.”

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Oh? We have not had any reports of darkspawn here.”

“I should hope not,” Daylen remarked. “The Orlesian Wardens would have responded if that were the case. No, I am here on a more…delicate matter.”

The duke’s smile grew slightly brittle. “What matter?”

“Recently in Ferelden, there was a kidnapping,” Daylen explained. “The criminals have been brought to justice, but the syndicate they reported to still exists. I was tasked with tracking them down.”

“And your search brought you here?” Prosper asked. “I feel I should be insulted.”

“I am only here tangentially,” Daylen assured him. “I know for a fact that the syndicate is Tevinter-based, not Orlesian. A gentleman of your standing has many businesses and dealings in many locations.”

“Shall we dispense with the pleasantries and speak frankly?” The duke interrupted in Fereldan.

“There has no been no evidence that leads me to believe that you were involved,” Daylen said bluntly. “But your shipping group helped move the kidnappers and were contracted to help move them back, and that means that you’ve got information on the next link in the chain. Information that I need.”

The duke stared at him. “You came here looking for information? That’s all?”

“That’s all,” Daylen confirmed. “I find who the next person I need to pay a visit to is and where they are, and I’ll be on my way.”

“I see.” The duke considered the issue. “I hope you understand, I am sympathetic to your cause. But I cannot simply hand over information regarding my businesses. The financial risk is simply too great. My clients count on discretion.”

Daylen nodded grimly. “I see. I had hoped that our two nations could come together in the face of these criminals, but perhaps not. I will have to keep searching elsewhere, then. Good hunting, Duke.”

“And you as well, Warden.”

Daylen waited until the man walked away before glancing over at his companions. “Well, so much for the diplomatic approach.”

“We’ll need to infiltrate the place,” Nathaniel said. “It won’t be easy. Chateau Haine is well-defended. I’ve been there before.”

Daylen eyed his second-in-command. “Any ideas?”

Nathaniel hesitated. “You’re the Warden-Commander, not me.”

The mage snorted. “I got the job by virtue of seniority and the fact that nobody wanted to arm-wrestle me for the job.”

“Oghren offered,” Neria pointed out.

“I trust your judgment, Nate,” Daylen continued. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Clearly, he does not intend to be accommodating. We lack the numbers to force an entry against the full strength of his guards, but entering quietly and avoiding notice could still be possible.”

Neria shrugged. “Much as I would enjoy burning the place down…”

—TRW—

The lock clicked open, and Nathaniel slipped inside, his picks disappearing up his sleeve. He patted a pouch at his belt. “We’re here.”

A pair of mice crawled from the pouch, dropping to the ground and shifting back into the two mages. “Nicely done,” Daylen murmured. Nathaniel winked in reply, and the trio set about searching the study.

“Got some financial records here,” Neria said. “Nothing useful.”

“Some other documents, in a language I’m not familiar with,” Nathaniel added. “Is…I think this is Qunlat.”

Daylen glanced at the document. “Huh. Strange. That’s Qunlat, all right.”

“Well, what’s it say?” Neria urged.

Daylen gave her an annoyed look. “I can recognize it. Doesn’t mean I can _read_ it.” He turned back to the documents he was looking at, spotting the names he was looking for. “Got it.” He skimmed the manifest quickly, noting the destination port and expected arrival date. He folded the documents up, stuffing them into his satchel and heading for the door. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Nathaniel hissed, listening at the door. “Guard is about to pass on his patrol.” He kept his eyes closed a few moments longer, before nodding. Daylen and Neria transformed, and Nathaniel gently pushed them back into the pouch and quickly stalked down the hall, heading back the way they had come.

They had looped back around the estate, heading for the kitchens as planned, when things began to go wrong. A door opened behind them, and Nathaniel ducked into an alcove as two guards emerged on patrol. “Why are we doing this again anyway?” One guard grumbled. “That Fereldan and her companions are still out on the hunt, and the ox-men won’t arrive until later.”

“Because we were ordered to,” the other snapped. “And because the only time to infiltrate would be before the others show up.” Daylen shifted nervously in Nathaniel’s pouch, wondering what the Qunari could want with Duke Prosper.

“I know that,” the first guard insisted. “But the duke said that the Champion and her allies were the threat. We know where they are. Who else would be stupid enough to try something _now_?”

The second guard groaned. “Honestly. Don’t ask that question. You don’t want it answered. More ox-men, probably. Or maybe someone completely unexpected.”

Nathaniel pressed himself further into the shadows, letting the guards pass by before he headed for the kitchen. He made it all of three steps before the edge of his boot hit a caprice coin someone had dropped. The tiny coin bounced off a nearby wall, and Nathaniel froze as the guards turned at the sound.

“Who are you?” one guard demanded.

“A guest of the Duke,” Nathaniel said, thickening the accent he had picked up in the Marches. “Here from Starkhaven.”

“You shouldn’t be in this area of the Chateau,” the other said. “Whose party are you with?”

Nathaniel gave him a disdainful look. “And why should I answer you?”

“Because we’re the guards?” the first supplied helpfully.

Nathaniel paused. “That’s true.” The stiletto slid from his sleeve into his hand, and he stabbed one guard, kicking the other in the knee hard enough to shatter the joint. The first guard bellowed in pain as Nathaniel ripped the stiletto free, and Neria and Daylen leapt free and transformed as Nathaniel finished off both guards.

“I suspect stealth is off the table,” Neria remarked, shouts audible in the distance.

“Let’s go,” Daylen growled. As Neria had predicted, the alarm had been raised, and the trio made for the exit, finding dozens of guards in their way. “Fall back,” Daylen ordered, raising a wall of ice and dropping several glyphs to buy some time. “Do we circle around or make our own exit?”

“Breaking down a wall would draw a lot of attention,” Nathaniel pointed out. “We keep moving, they’ll have a harder time finding us.”

Ten minutes later, they were completely lost. “Where’s the sodding exit?” Daylen groused as they turned another blind corner, passing a trio of statues shoved into the corner.

A pack of guards were waiting for them. “Drop your weapons!”

“Hey, they want you alive, right?” Nathaniel asked.

Daylen looked over in confusion. “What?” Nathaniel's response was to draw one of his daggers and grab Daylen by the back of his armor, holding the blade to his neck. “Nobody move or I slit his throat!”

“This is a new one,” Daylen wheezed.

The guards stared at them. “You realize bringing you all in dead is an option too, right?”

Daylen clicked his fingers, a blast of lightning blinding the guards. “Run!”

They managed to lose the guards in the mazelike dungeons under the chateau, and Daylen turned the corner, running into a man running the opposite direction. The newcomer fell back, landing with a pained grunt, and Daylen caught an eyeful of feathers and blond hair as the man stood up. “Anders?” The mage’s eyes widened comically, before he shoved Daylen back, sprinting away as if he was being chased by a horde of angry bees. “Hey, wait!”

Nathaniel yanked at Daylen’s arm. “Come on, there’s no time!”

The Warden cursed under his breath, following Nathaniel down the hall. The trio found themselves huddled in an empty cell, pushing themselves into the shadows. “You get the feeling we’re not the only problem the guards have to deal with right now?” Neria asked.

“They do seem a bit occupied,” Nathaniel said softly. “Was that _Anders_ we saw?”

“Sure seemed like it,” Daylen replied. “You know, there were rumors of a mage healer working in Kirkwall. The Champion is supposedly here and brought her companions.”

“You think Anders is working with her now?” Neria asked skeptically. “Doesn’t that seem a bit high-profile for him?”

“Why else would he be here?” Daylen countered. “It’s not really important at the moment, but it raises a few interesting questions.”

“The only question I’m interested in right now is how we get out of here,” Nathaniel muttered.

“I’ve got an idea, but I don’t know if it’ll work,” Daylen admitted, pressing a hand to the wall. “This whole area is pocked with caves and tunnels that those little ghast-things hide in. If I can make a small enough hole in the wall to not tip off everyone where we are…” He focused, sending a very directed pulse of force magic into the wall. “Nothing in this direction. Come on.”

They scuttled from shadow to shadow, avoiding notice until they found a cell with a wall that Daylen felt was near enough to a ghast-hole. Neria pumped frost-magic into the wall, before Daylen shattered the stone, a torrent of icy water cascading through the cell. When the flow subsided, the thoroughly-drenched Wardens stood up, shaking mud from their clothes. “Or we’ll find an aquifer,” Daylen said lightly, swiping his sodden bangs out of his eyes.

“It’s an exit,” Neria proclaimed, stepping through the hole into the knee-deep water. “That’s good enough for me.”

Daylen collapsed the wall behind them, before flaring a ball of magelight in his hand, illuminating the dark cavern. “Let’s get as far from the chateau as we can, then break through to the surface,” he hissed. They picked their way forward, occasionally slipping on the slick rock underfoot or falling into a deeper section of water. By the time they reached the other side of the cavern, all three were soaked to the skin, cold, and annoyed.

“Neria, we’ll give you a boost, break through and take a peek up top,” Daylen suggested. They hoisted the elf onto their shoulders and she carefully broke through the rocky ceiling, before pushing past the packed earth and grass overhead to see daylight.

“We’re on the north side of the chateau, I think,” she whispered. “No guards in sight.”

“Great,” Nathaniel grunted. “Are you gaining weight?”

She rolled her eyes, before dropping to the floor. “All right, fearless leader, how do you plan to get all three of us up there?” Daylen casually flicked a hand, raising blocks of ice beneath their feet and pushing them upwards toward the ceiling. “Showoff,” the elf muttered.

The group broke through to the surface, keeping low in the fading light. “So what now?” Nathaniel asked as they moved out, heading away from Chateau Haine.

Daylen turned to the others. “Now you two go home. I’m going it alone from here.” He held up a hand to forestall the arguments. “This isn’t a Warden issue. It’s my problem, and I won’t have the Fereldan Grey Wardens involved in an international incident.”

Nathaniel grunted. “This little raid notwithstanding, I suppose.”

“Where are you going?” Neria asked.

“Tevinter.” Daylen paused. “With a couple stops along the way, I suspect.”

—TRW—

Daylen gave the shipmaster a weak nod as he slung his pack over his shoulder, stepping down the gangplank and closing his eyes as he once felt the solid ground of the Kirkwall docks under his feet. “I’ve faced demons, darkspawn, and dragons, but I still can’t handle a ship,” he muttered.

By the time his stomach settled, Daylen had realized that something was very wrong with Kirkwall. The city streets were mazelike, but that was hardly unusual in an older city where generations of construction and remodeling had laughed in the face of urban planning. The immense bronze slave statues were incredibly tacky and probably should have been ripped down centuries before to be melted down for ingots, but considering Kirkwall was once a Tevinter city, it was hardly surprising.

But what worried him most was how he felt the Fade pressing against the Veil, a faint whispering audible as he passed the Gallows, the prison where the Kirkwall Circle of Magi was based. Years before, Daylen had been taken there after his magic manifested, only to be transferred off to Ferelden a few years later. But with nearly two decades of experience under his belt, the mage realized just how comparatively thin the Veil was in Kirkwall.

The slums of Kirkwall were known as Lowtown, located below Hightown, the creatively-named rich area. Daylen found a tavern and downed a pint of watery ale. Ignoring a shockingly beardless dwarf with a heroic jawline holding court in the corner of the tavern, he asked the bartender where Fereldan refugees tended to collect. A few minutes later, Daylen entered Lirene’s Fereldan Imports, expecting another shabby shop crammed into an empty warehouse.

Lirene’s turned out to be a fairly large space, selling goods and bringing word of jobs and charity to the Fereldan refugees in Kirkwall. As he waited in line, Daylen watched several refugees selling goods they appeared to have crafted themselves to Lirene for change, before glancing at the empty charity box.

The refugees stepped away from the counter, a meager handful of coins between them, and Daylen grimaced before stepping forward. “Good afternoon.”

Lirene looked him up and down. “You’re no charity case. You buying or selling?”

“Little of both,” Daylen said. “I’m looking for a mage healer. Fereldan. Blond bloke, has a thing for feathers, probably answers to the name of Anders.”

Lirene’s face didn’t change. “Never heard of him.”

Daylen raised a hand, magic sparking across his fingers. “I’m no threat to him. He used to work for me. I ran into him recently and wanted to make sure he was all right.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You a Grey Warden?”

“Warden-Commander,” Daylen said softly. “And if anyone needs healing, I’m available. No charge.”

Lirene leaned back from the counter. “If you’re for real, I might know where to find Anders.”

Daylen shrugged. “Well, here’s a gesture of good faith.” He reached into his coin purse, dropping a hefty handful of sovereigns into the charity box. Lirene’s jaw dropped. “That ought to keep some food on the table for a few weeks.”

“All right, fine,” Lirene muttered. “Down in Darktown. Look for the lantern.”

‘Darktown,’ while aptly named, would have been better referred to as ‘the sewers.’ Daylen witnessed the poorest of Kirkwall’s denizens huddled close for warmth, burning refuse and staring at him suspiciously as he passed. The people were hungry, dirty, and clearly wary of him. “This place makes Dust Town look nice,” Daylen murmured, spotting the doors with a lit lantern hanging in front.

—TRW—

Anders stiffened as he sensed Daylen’s approach, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to balance his obligation to the dozen-plus patients in the clinic with his instinct to flee.

The Warden entered the clinic, his face tightening slightly as he saw the amount of people waiting for help. A few objected as he shouldered past, but Daylen flicked a hand at them, their wounds closing immediately as he closed on Anders.

The healer finished healing a child’s broken arm and turned away, rinsing his hands. He was toweling dry and inching towards his staff when Daylen addressed him. “Relax, I’m not here to drag you back,” Daylen said. “Nor am I here to kill you.”

“I’m not going back,” Anders rasped. “You may as well leave now. I won’t go back.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” Daylen replied, looking around the clinic. “I wouldn’t want to deprive these people of help they clearly need. And let's be honest, here. Even if I wanted to, even if there was a point to taking you back, even if I did manage to take you back to Ferelden with me, we couldn't hold you. Tell me, have you ever considered taking up burglary as a profession?”

“If you’re talking about that thing at Chateau Haine, I-”

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure where you even were until then,” Daylen interrupted. “I figured it was another blond apostate with a feather fetish who was working as a healer. I’d heard rumors of your affiliation with the Champion, sure, but it wasn’t until our little collision that I was sure. And until about two days ago I wasn’t sure I would even try to make contact.”

“Daylen, why are you here?”

The Warden leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “To be honest? I was checking up on you.”

“Making sure I wasn’t possessed or using blood magic?” Anders snapped. “Well, for your information-”

“Don’t know, don’t care, not why I’m here,” Daylen cut him off. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Do I look all right?”

“A little thinner, little paler, a lot world-wearier,” Daylen commented. “Not all of that hunger you’re feeling is the Warden appetite.” He dropped a small sack on the table, the bag clinking as it landed. “Get yourself some decent food, a real bed, and another cat. I hope you know that furball you adopted wreaked all kinds of havoc at the Keep after you left. Sigrun’s taking care of him.”

“Fine,” Anders said guardedly. “Anything else?”

“You need any help around here? My ship leaves with the tide.”

“Pick a patient and start working,” Anders ordered, nodding to the child’s mother as she hustled her son out the door. In between patients, the two spoke sparingly. “Recruited any more Templars?”

“Of course not,” Daylen replied. “I made a mistake, Anders. I freely admit that. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Anders grunted. “You learned well from Irving. Apologize, even if you don’t mean it, and do it so earnestly that the other person feels like they’re the problem for being angry.”

Daylen frowned. “I was serious. And Irving wouldn’t pull something like that.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Anders challenged. “He never stood up for the mages at Kinloch Hold. Maybe he was more of a mentor to you, but he would never back a mage against a Templar.”

“Well yes, he’s a mage himself,” Daylen said. “He’s just as much at their mercy as the rest of us were. He can’t very well stand up for the other mages if he only has what authority the Templars allow him to have. Do you really think that he could overrule a Templar – any Templar?”

“He could try,” Anders insisted. “But he doesn’t care enough to try.”

Daylen shrugged. “Clearly, we’re not going to agree on this.”

“Clearly he was more of a parental figure to you than he ever was to me.”

The next few hours passed quickly, and when the glut of patients had passed, Daylen rinsed some blood from his hands and turned to Anders. “I didn’t come to Kirkwall just for you. I’m headed towards Tevinter, tracking some magisters who were running a slaving ring in Ferelden. I’d best be going. Take care of yourself. If you ever need help…”

“I’m fine,” Anders said firmly. “Please, go.”

Daylen nodded. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Anders. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”

—TRW—

_Sloth Demon  
“And I looked at the creature and it had become me. A veritable copy of my form, of my very mind, stared back at me as if from within a mirror. I thought surely that this was a trick, an illusion meant to put me off guard... but as I engaged the thing with my sword it fought me with maneuvers that I recognized. It parried as I parried; it swung as I swung. It spoke to me and said things that only I could know. I... I think this demon of sloth has no form or identity of its own. It is envy as much as sloth, I believe, and mine was not the first shape it stole that day.”_

_—An excerpt from a transcribed deposition of Tyrenus, templar-commander of Cumberland, 3:90 Towers._

_The most difficult assumption for some who study demons to overcome is the notion that a sloth demon is, in and of itself, slothful. If that were so, it seems highly unlikely that any such demons would cross the Veil into our own world, or once here would fight to possess any creature with a will of its own—and we know both these things to not be the case. Certainly, some demons are lazy and complacent, but who knows? Perhaps these creatures even cultivate such a reputation._

_The truth is that demons of sloth are named so because this is the portion of the human psyche that they feed upon. Doubt. Apathy. Entropy. They seek to spread these things. The sloth demon hides in its forms, a master of shapes and disguises, always in the last place you look... and from its hiding place it spreads its influence. A community afflicted by a demon of sloth could soon become a dilapidated pit where injustices are allowed to pass without comment, and none of the residents could be aware that such a change has even taken place. The sloth demon weakens, tires, tears at the edges of consciousness and would much rather render its victim helpless than engage in a true conflict. Such creatures are best faced only with a great deal of will, and only with an eye to piercing their many disguises._

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


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